


When Elim met Lwaxana

by SweetPollyOliver



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: (I'll have what she's having), F/M, Garak probably likes Lwaxana more than he's letting on, Multiple Orgasms, Pansexual Garak, Platonic Sex, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Cardassia, Vaginal Fingering, flamboyant middle aged flirts who are secretly deeply lonely helping each other out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 21:43:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8177081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetPollyOliver/pseuds/SweetPollyOliver
Summary: Garak and Lwaxana meet in an official capacity on Cardassia post-canon and one thing leads to another.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GulJerry (GulJeri)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GulJeri/gifts).



> Written for Guljerry as part of Round 4 of trek-rarepair-swap.

The first time they had made love she had been pregnant with another man's baby and recently married to another again and the safe engagement of her affections elsewhere had made Garak feel there was little harm in accepting her proposition.

She'd caught his unguarded thoughts following the lines of Julian Bashir's neck wistfully and had suggested that they might as well make the most of their respective situations and enjoy her wedding night together.

Post coitally she'd told him, very casually, that she was glad he'd said yes because her second choice would have been Quark and she would have hated herself for doing that to Odo.

He was surprised how little he was appalled with himself for his recklessness. To a man of secrets, nothing could be more of a threat than a telepath—particularly one as habitually indiscreet as Mrs. Troi.

But perhaps he was being uncharitable. The vast gulf between Betazoid and Cardassian culture couldn't be more profound; the difference between thoughtless indiscretion and friendly conversation was not anything like as defined in her culture. From his understanding of it, Betazoids found the rest of the universe frustratingly oblique and the need for privacy was all but barbaric to them.

Perhaps that had changed.

The Lwaxana Troi he met now didn't seem markedly different from the Lwaxana Troi he had known on DS9 to the casual observer, but he was anything but casual; the cracks in the mask of her public persona were more obvious now than they had been before.

And more significantly still he didn't feel so much as a nudge from her mind from behind his carefully maintained shields.

Glancing briefly at a homeless orphan, who looked closer to a skeleton than a living child, lying in the meagre shade just metres from where he stood, Garak could imagine why Lwaxana might not want to hear the thoughts of those around here, to say nothing of feeling their emotions.

Somehow he didn't think that coming from her own war ravaged planet to another place devastated by the Dominion was the way any of her friends would have wished for Lwaxana to learn the value of keeping her telepathic fingers to herself.

On the subject of her friends, considering that he had been thinking of ways to kill her if he needed to, he wasn't sure that he could count himself among their number, but he was not unfond of the lady. And besides, being strictly accurate, he wasn't sure he knew anyone he had _never_ considered how to kill and it would be very lonely indeed to think that this meant he had no friends.

“My dear Ambassador Troi,” he said, smiling widely through his own mask. “How good it is to see a familiar face.”

She kissed both of his cheeks in a greeting far more extravagant than he would usually permit.

“Why, Mr. Garak, you awful man, I had no idea you were the gul they were sending to meet me.”

“I personally requested to have the privilege of welcoming you,” he said. 

In fact, only the keenest sense of duty had prevented him from begging to be excused from greeting her when she beamed down from her shuttle. She was easily intuitive enough to have inferred this fact even if she wasn't using her telepathy to know beyond a shadow of a doubt, however, most uncharacteristically, she didn't take the bait and tease him about trying to avoid her.

For a moment she looked as though she was going to say something, but then it passed.

“That was most kind,” she replied instead and took his proffered arm.

They walked down the uneven dusty road arm in arm, carefully not talking about the route she was being brought on. The provisional government wanted the Federation ambassador to be in no doubt about the condition of the Cardassian populace without ever explicitly soliciting aid.

It was not a plan that Garak found even remotely palatable, both because he found it beneath the dignity of Cardassia to indirectly beg the Federation to come and save them and because Lwaxana's hand tightened slightly in the crook of his elbow at the onslaught of hunger and loss and desperation from every direction.

No doubt, of course, they'd have her housed in some half bombed embassy that let dust blow into it all night and keep all the carefully rebuilt homes that the political elite were living in out of her sight for the duration of her stay, so that she could report back to the Federation that the once proud Cardassian Union had to had to host even ambassadors and foreign aristocrats in substandard buildings because they were so destitute.

Garak couldn't be too disapproving without being a hypocrite, since as a gul his own home had been rebuilt to a very high standard compared to the care shown towards the average citizen's living situation. It was nothing compared with how a gul would have lived before the Dominion razed the planet, but it was undeniable that he directly benefitted from the state's uneven priorities.

But then hypocrisy had never stopped him before.

They were almost at their destination.

“Lwaxana,” he found himself saying before he quite realised it. “Before I leave you to your accommodation, can I invite you visit my home?”

Maybe he thought she deserved to be at least aware of the ways she was being manipulated.

Maybe his subtle rebellion had nothing to do with her and everything to do with his own sense of what was right.

Maybe he was guilty.

Maybe he was just lonely and she was beautiful.

He was not discomfited by not knowing for sure what Julian Bashir might call _the_ truth was, although he was a little disturbed by the impulsiveness of his act all the same.

Lwaxana Troi seemed to bring out what might be euphemistically called the spontaneous in him.

“Yes, I would love to,” she said with a firmness that belied her affected casual demeanor.

*

If she was surprised by the comparative luxury he lived in, she didn't remark on it—her reservation continued to be a little unsettling when compared to his past experience of her.

Garak was no empath, but he thought he could feel the mingled relief and guilt from his companion as they crossed the threshhold into his house. And how strange that Enabran Tain's rebuilt home would be a refuge for anyone. He felt that it was appropriate that the comfort it offered was ambivalent at best.

“It is a peculiar feeling,” he said aloud. “To be glad that the suffering are out of sight so that they cannot distress one with their suffering.”

She said nothing.

“Hunger and physical duress almost seem preferable to guilt sometimes,” he continued. “But I can't pretend that I would switch places with some poor wretch who has been left without a roof over their head. The easiest way to rationalise it is that my good health is essential to the well being of the state, so my privileged position is not only just but necessary, but it's harder to lie to oneself than to others.”

“No bon mots about the nobility of sacrifice in service to the state?” Lwaxana asked finally.

She had found a couch and was doing something between draping herself on it and collapsing on it in exhaustion.

“I'm afraid not,” Garak said. “Although it must be said that they would still suffer whether I had a nice house or not. My wealth would spread very thinly over a whole world. So maybe it's just vanity to indulge in being guilty.”

“Elim, darling, did you bring me here so that we could luxuriate in our guilt together or to have sex?” she asked.

“Well I had hoped we could squeeze both in,” he said. “But if you only have energy for one….”

“It has been a long day,” she agreed and then beckoned him over with a bend of her finger.

When he reached her side she reached up for his face with both hands and lifted her head to his as he leaned down to meet her lips halfway.

The first time he'd kissed her her lips had tasted of salt from tears carelessly spilt over Odo. Now she tasted of the dust from the road that had settled on her face. The lack of romance was the only constant.

Her hands slid down his back to cup the back of his thighs and urge him towards her, so he let one knee rest on the edge of the couch while he swung his other leg over to straddle her hips. Her hands made their way back up to his hair, which she ran her fingers through and brushed forward until it hung over his face.

“I've always liked your hair down,” she said.

“You've only seen it down once,” he reminded her.

“Well if you don't count up here,” she tapped her temple.

“I'm flattered you keep my picture there,” he said with a small chuckle and then she kissed from his chin down his neck and gripped his ridges firmly and the laugh turned into a groan and his hips shot forward without his conscious instruction to bring him flush against her.

“I have a whole album up there,” she replied and moved his hand to between her legs. “Now be a dear and take care of this, will you?”

It was something of a production to lift and rearrange her skirts in such a way that he could reach under them blindly, but with a minimum of clumsy groping he managed to find her hot centre with his fingertips.

She was, if anything, wetter than she had been the last time they'd done this—perhaps it was something to do with her age and the attendant increase in her libido—and he could slide two fingers up into her straight away without her needing any further attention first.

Once he was in her he curled and uncurled his fingers, building in speed and then slowing again in cycles. He left her clitoris unattended for now, because he knew from experience that until she had had her first orgasm it would be too sensitive for him to touch without hurting her.

She gasped prettily in his ear as he pumped his fingers in and out of her rhythmically and then he used his other hand to pull her low, loose neckline down enough to bare one of her breasts. He took her nipple between his teeth lightly before bringing it further into his mouth to suck.

Eventually he started to get a cramp in his fingers and his wrist was beginning to click, so he pulled her skirts up further and readjusted himself so that he could get a good angle with his non-dominant hand and replaced the fingers of his right hand with his left.

“I feel like I used to be better at this,” he said and kissed just under the point of her jaw.

“First one is always the hardest,” she replied in a half moan. “You're doing fine.”

And with that she started to clutch at his shoulders with her hands as another part of her anatomy began to clutch at his fingers.

“Ahhhh!”

He continued to work her through her convulsions, hoping he could get another orgasm out of the tail end of this one.

His efforts were not unrewarded.

When she had finally come down from orgasm number four, she dragged his head up from where her legs met to kiss him again, his mouth making hers wet with her own arousal.

It was familiar and yet so much more satisfying now to taste salt on her lips again.

“Okay,” she said with an enormous breath of air. “Now we can get started.”

*

Afterwards they lay together, skin to skin, on the floor in front of the couch, with a few strategic pillows to cushion their joints, and she drew her hand forwards and back across his chest slowly.

“You're not going to fall in love with me, are you?” she asked.

“No, I don't think so,” he said.

“Well that's good,” she replied. “I think that I've had enough of love for a long while. But this was quite nice.”

“I can think of no higher praise,” he said archly.

“Oh hush,” she said and tapped him on the chest lightly. “Now you'll have to lend me something to sleep in, because I'll be damned if I'm going back to the embassy at this hour. Come along.”

She stood up and started to walk, quite naked, towards his bedroom. He hadn't told her where it was.

He found that he couldn't quite bring himself to worry about that just at that moment.


End file.
